


One Last Time

by therobotjane



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Obsession, POV First Person, Suicidal Thoughts, Twincest, sadfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therobotjane/pseuds/therobotjane
Summary: Cheryl Blossom reflects on her life with Jason, and her desperate love for him, after his tragic death.Jason never thought of me as a freak or a failure.He protected me when no one else would.He was my knight in shining armor, my hero, my soulmate. The love of my life.My love for him filled me up, made me feel whole. It bandaged the wounds that others had given me, covered over the cracks and tears on my insides. It was my shield, my crutch, my safe haven in storm-tossed waters.





	One Last Time

Jason was perfect.

Utterly, completely, irrevocably perfect.

His soft, flame-red hair. His alabaster skin. His eyes that looked like jade when he was happy and a stormy sea when he was angry. His full, pouting lips. Every inch of him was perfect.

He always had been.

While I, I was the ugly duckling. The unwanted. The awkward. The never-good-enough. At least in the eyes of our parents.

But Jason never saw me that way.

Not when I’d cry myself ragged after our shared birthday parties. Parties with cakes that had his name in big letters and mine added as a footnote, if at all.

Not when I’d try so hard to be good at sports just to be more like him, with my knees and palms scuffed and bloody.

Not when I’d sneak into his room after our parents were asleep, to climb into his bed and press against him, let him wrap his arms around me and kiss my hair and make me feel safe.

Jason never thought of me as a freak or a failure.

He protected me when no one else would.

He was my knight in shining armor, my hero, my soulmate. The love of my life.

My love for him filled me up, made me feel whole. It bandaged the wounds that others had given me, covered over the cracks and tears on my insides. It was my shield, my crutch, my safe haven in storm-tossed waters.

It started innocently, as things do when you’re children. We would hug and hold hands and share the kind of casual affection that children generally grow out of after a few years. After being teased in grade school, we learned to keep it a secret. Most children would’ve simply left off such behavior but we were part of each other. Not touching would’ve been like losing a limb.

So we would play together in the woods and spend most of that time curled up in each other’s arms in a pile of leaves or holding hands while running through the trees.

Jason would always slow his steps for me.

When we got a little older, and both of us were getting to the age where children are supposed to start feeling attraction, Jason kept my complete and focused attention. Even as he started to flirt with girls on the playground, pulling pigtails and the like. Because I knew, I always knew, that at the end of the day, Jason was mine. No matter how much he flirted, what interest he showed, even when he had his first “girlfriend”, he came home to me.

It became more difficult, over the years, to sneak past our parents. I don’t know if they suspected something, or merely didn’t want their perfect child tainted with the stain of his ugly sister. I didn’t care.

I would tiptoe, as quiet as a mouse, through the darkened halls of Thornhill. I may not have been as beautiful as my brother, or as strong, but I was sneaky.

You have to be when almost everyone hates you.

My feet would be cold by the time I reached Jason’s room. It was just down the hall but the floors were always freezing in Thornhill. I’d slide into his bed and press my cold feet against his warm ones and he would fuss in his sleep, grumble, then roll over to wrap his arms around me. His body would press against mine, shirtless, he always slept shirtless, already becoming broad-shouldered and lean, and it would feel so good that I would have trouble falling asleep.

But it was wrong to feel that way.

Wasn’t it?

I would run my fingertips down his side or lay a whisper-soft kiss on his shoulder and he would smile in his sleep and my heart would flutter.

It couldn’t be wrong to love someone that much.

To love someone so intensely that even the thought of being without them made you sick with fear.

To love someone so deeply that you knew you would do anything for them.

Anything.

So my days became these patient, barely contained things, where I would weather the insults that our parents would throw at me, where I would tolerate Jason’s flirtations at school, where I would practice, practice, practice for cheerleading tryouts because Jason was going to be on the football team next year and the thought of him playing without me cheering for him was unbearable.

Then at night, I would slip into his bed and steal touches and kisses that I didn’t dare ask for by the light of day. Nothing untoward, of course. I would trace his jawline, the curve of his ear, the swell of his lips. Relish the feeling of his chest rising and falling against mine. The way his biceps would bulge when he’d pull me closer.

The way his early morning arousal would press against me.

I was always sure to leave his room before he woke, before our parents woke, so I wouldn’t get in trouble.

Really, things were very innocent between us until the weekend that our parents were called away on emergency business. We were teens by then, but barely. Jason argued and pleaded with our parents that we were old enough to be left home alone. Father tutted and grumbled. Mother frowned meaningfully in my direction and asked if Jason was sure he could handle it. By “it”, she clearly meant me, as if I would ever misbehave for Jason.

Somehow, he convinced them.

Mother pulled me aside in a rush before they left, threatening me with everything she could think of, from groundings to burning me at the stake, if I so much as put one toe out of line while Jason was in charge.

I assured her that I would never dream of such a thing, which she must have taken as sass, because I got slapped across the face.

But then they were gone. An entire two days without my parents. Two days without being treated like a dog that had stepped in something foul. It was such a relief, I thought I would cry. Jason must have seen the look on my face because he gave me a hug and kissed my hair then told me to enjoy the freedom because he wasn’t going to babysit me.

Stunted, controlled words of appreciation and love tumbled from my lips, so small compared to what I wanted to say, and he smiled and returned them.

I spent hours in my room, practicing, stretching, going through cheerleading routines over and over. Sure, it was summer and tryouts weren’t until fall, but I needed to be ready. I wore myself out that day, able to work without my mother checking in to make sure I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I think that she only kept checking in so that she could insult me for trying in the first place, anyway.

When night fell and I laid awake in bed, I realized that I didn’t have to sneak into Jason’s room. Suddenly, it seemed wrong. Far more wrong than it ever had with my parents sleeping down the hall.

Why?

Because I didn’t have to wait so long that Jason would surely be asleep by the time I arrived.

So I remained in my room, my young heart pounding in my chest, for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, I got out of bed and walked down the hall, forcing myself not to creep, forcing my footfalls to make sounds. It felt wrong.

But then I was sliding under Jason’s blankets, warming my cold feet on his warm ones, and everything was right again. He tossed in his sleep, pulled me close, and I laid there for hours, just staring at him. Daring myself to touch him. To risk waking him. Knowing that I wouldn’t, that I was a coward at heart, that Jason’s happiness was the only thing I was willing to fight for and that I wasn’t sure that my attention would make him happy.

Eventually, I fell asleep, safe in his arms, surrounded by the scent of him, the sound of his breathing and his heartbeat filling my head.

I startled awake in a blind panic as beams of sunlight made their way through the gap in Jason’s curtains. I was supposed to have snuck out before this, we were going to get caught, _I_ was going to get…

Jason rolled over, languorous and still half asleep, and threw one arm over me. He mumbled something about our parents being gone, smiled, yawned, and pulled me into his embrace, pressing his body against mine in that way that made my heart race and my body heat up. His hardness rubbed against my most personal parts when he wrapped a leg around mine.

I must’ve made a sound because his lovely eyes fluttered open and he looked at me with love, a soft smile on his generous mouth. His hands moved to tangle in my hair and he pressed his perfect lips to mine, like he hadn’t in years, then moreso. I was tempted to ask why, but I couldn’t bring myself to question it.

Not as one of his hands moved to my chest, stroking my overly-sensitive nipples through the thin material of my sleepshirt. He looked askance at me, permission, as if I would ever deny him anything. Even if I wanted to, which I very much didn’t, I don’t think I was able. I could never tell Jason no, regardless of what he asked of me.

His perfect, straight teeth raked over his bottom lip and he kissed me again and again, his body covering mine with its delicious warmth and weight. His fingers slid between my legs, touching me, pushing into my eager body.

Then Jason was pushing his boxers down, kicking them off.

Every inch of him was perfect.

His broad shoulders. His narrow waist. His muscular thighs. His hard cock.

I remember trying that word out mentally when I saw him naked and aroused for the first time. I’d heard it at school, of course, no one used that type of language in Thornhill. The other girls in the bathroom gossiping about who had sucked whose cock. I didn’t have anyone to ask what it meant but I put it together eventually, blushing, unwilling to believe that people did such things but wanting more than anything to do them with Jason.

I didn’t even have time to express such a desire before Jason was on top of me, pushing into me, so tenderly. It was my first time, of course. We were young yet and I had been saving myself for him anyway. I would’ve never let another man touch me first. I belonged to Jason, body, heart, and soul.

I’d always heard that the first time was supposed to hurt. But, perhaps because I’d wanted him for so long, my body accepted him readily, greedily.

He filled me perfectly, our bodies made for each other, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. He took me slowly, gently, whispering words of encouragement and love, telling me how beautiful I was, sharing the secret that this was why he’d tried so hard to have us left home alone. So he could finally have me. That I’d been driving him mad, sleeping next to him every night. That my thighs were so tempting when they rubbed against him every morning. That he wanted me. That he _needed_ me.

I began to cry but they were happy tears, ones that Jason kissed away.

And he was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Just having him on top of me, inside of me, watching his face contort in pleasure, feeling his hands on my chest and in my hair...it was all so perfect. My heart was filled with a pure and complete love, white-hot as a fire, desperate and willing.

When I got too loud, he pressed his mouth to mine, kissing me deeply, swallowing my cries of his name as he made my body sing with pleasure, as I contracted around him, wrapping my legs around his waist, trying to pull him deeper, deep enough to never leave.

He shouted and I could feel him throbbing, pulsing inside me.

Jason’s arms shook and gave out, leaving him laying on top of me, his manhood still buried in my body, my legs wrapped around his, my fingers idly toying with his sweat-damp hair.

It was the most content I had ever been.

He brushed my hair off of my forehead and kissed me, his hand cupping my chin like lovers in a movie.

My soulmate. The other half of my heart.

I whispered his name, thanked him over and over, promised to never tell a soul.

That afternoon, we stayed inside, taking advantage of having Thornhill more or less to ourselves. The help wasn’t paid to babysit a pair of teenagers, only to feed us and clean up our messes. So we were politely ignored as we explored each other for hours and hours.

That afternoon stands out in my memories as so gloriously golden. We made love in my bedroom, in the hot tub, in the gardens, then again in Jason’s room, over and over until we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning wasn’t quite as frantic but was still filled with caresses and kisses, as we stole moments until our parents got home.

By the late afternoon, things were back to normal. Mother was making snide comments about how she hoped I hadn’t distracted Jason from anything important with my useless prattle. Father was glaring, as he always did.

But I had a secret in my heart that kept me safe from their disdain. Jason, my Jason, loved me as I loved him.

We carried on in secret, when we could. Sometimes a week or more would pass before we got enough time alone. It tore me apart, having to wait, but it also made it all the more exciting when it happened.

And sneaking was what I did best, after all.

I never left a paper trial. I never wrote about him in my diary. But I did get a thrill out of whispering promises to him at school or the dinner table. I’d been whispering secrets to Jason our entire lives, so no one thought anything of it.

I did notice, however, that Jason was exceptionally urgent with me, bordering on pushy, when I teased him so.

And I loved that, too.

I loved knowing that if I murmured to him in the busy, bustling hallway that I wanted his cock so badly that it hurt, when we were finally alone, he would give it to me. He would ask if it was exactly what I’d wanted. He would touch me and pleasure me and make me scream for him to get back at me for my teasing.

It was good-natured, of course. Just a game we played with each other. No malice in it, at all, from either party.

And he would smile and tell me that he loved me when he was finished. He would help pick the leaves out of my hair if we trysted in the woods or would smooth the wrinkles from my cheerleading skirt if we found ourselves alone in the locker rooms.

We were closer than we had ever been, something I hadn’t thought was possible. We stood against the world, in love and complete, safe in each other.

I ignored the other girls he slept with as the months passed. He was the quarterback, after all. Even as a freshman, he was pursued by many. I couldn’t blame them. He was gorgeous and kind and brilliant.

And he always came home to me. He would _always_ come home to me. His soulmate, the other half of his heart. The one person in the world that would do anything for him, that would never tell him no.

At least, until he met Polly.

I hated her instantly, of course. But I tolerated her presence, as I had every little girlfriend of Jason’s. He had appearances to keep up, after all. My parents didn’t expect anything from me. I was too ugly to date, too terrible to find a boyfriend, etc, etc, etc, ad nauseam. But Jason was a handsome, young, football star.

Our parents didn’t know who Polly _was_ , at least not right away. Just that he had a new girlfriend. He explained it away, saying she was shy, and I had to wonder why he was going through so much effort for her. There were plenty of other girls that could be his arm-candy while I held his heart.

But as he and Polly grew closer, he became more distant with me.

He said...he said that it was wrong, what we’d done. That...that he was in love now, with Polly. And that he couldn’t betray her.

I hated her more than I’d ever hated anyone. It burned inside me, cold and unwavering.

She was trying to take my Jason from me. My lifeblood, my heartbeat, the breath in my lungs. She was trying to kill me, tear me to pieces, smother me in the ashes of my broken heart, drown me in my bitter tears.

I wouldn’t fight for myself. I never had. I let my parents insult me and walk all over me. I let the other kids at school pick on me and call me a freak. I had, over years of abuse, convinced myself that I deserved it. I grew an outer shell that was cold and distant but I never fought back. I couldn’t fight for myself. I didn’t know how.

But I would always fight for Jason.

I started to plot, to plan, to _sneak_. Polly was a Cooper. The Coopers and the Blossoms were mortal enemies. That was enough to destroy them but Jason, my precious Jason, had sworn me to secrecy when they’d first started dating, before I knew what a threat she was, before she’d started to turn my Jason against me. And I wouldn’t break my word to him. Not even then.

I had to take things into my own hands.

I’d make her disappear.

Tear her apart, smother her, drown her in her own foul Cooper blood. Or...or maybe in the river. That was cleaner. Her body would wash downstream and no one would know. Jason would think that the stupid slut ran off. He would be sad. He would be hurt. But he would seek solace in my arms and I would comfort him and he would remember how much he loves me and forget about her.

But before I could go through with it, he told me.

He and Polly were running away together.

And...he looked happy.

Inside, I shook, I collapsed, I shattered. But on the outside, I supported him. I told him that I loved him and that I would do anything for him. That, I meant.

Jason asked me to help him run away.

He knew. He knew I could never tell him no.

Despite my broken heart, how empty I felt, I helped him. Not them. _Him_. Jason.

He fought for me for our entire lives. I would fight for him. I would be brave. I would be strong. For the first time, I would be the one that he could lean on.

They found me sobbing by the river, just like they were supposed to. That dork Dilton and his boy scout troop. The tears I was crying were real. Jason was alive but he was gone. He had left and taken half of my being with him. I cried myself ragged, with no Jason to hold me.

Mother told me that she wished it was I that had died.

I agreed with her.

Jason...Jason was supposed to contact me when he and Polly were safe.

Days passed and the river was dragged over and over. They found nothing, of course.

Then Jason. My perfect Jason. My love, my heart. My soulmate. The other half of my being. My completion, my angel, my knight in shining armor.

_My_ Jason was found. Dead. With a bullet hole in his forehead. Cold and blue. Lifeless.

The other half of my soul was dead.

He would never come home to me again.

What could I do? Join him? Yes, I would join him. But not yet. Not until he’d been avenged.

Even though he was gone, I would still fight for him.

Then I could fall asleep in his arms one last time.


End file.
